I'm too sexy for my Porsche 911 GT3.

Okay, so that isn't my GT3.  In fact, I don't even own a Porsche, but this title seemed a little catchier and interest-grabbing than "Really Cute Stuff My Chubby Toddler Does."  At least I didn't use some sexual innuendo like most marketing ploys to suck you into readership.  I have kids.  I would NEVER sink to that (wink, wink).

So, through autism and pregnancy, it occurred to me that my youngest, Maddie Reese, rarely gets any pen time in my blogs or journal, even though she is a great source of much comedic and insightful material.  Maddie (short for Madison) is 18 months old and my Valentine's baby; she even looks like a cherub with her chubby porcelain cheeks and sandy blond locks of curls.  She has hardly the sweetness of one, however, as proven by her just chucking the TV remote at the coffee table in a fit of rage.  I would like to blame that trait on my husband, but we both have Italian tempers and neither of us can lay blame. Besides her penchant for throwing things and her hot temper, she is genuinely inquisitive and extremely smart.  She is learning words by the dozen, even if there is no rhyme or reason to the order in which she obtains them.  She says the obvious, like Mommy, Daddy, baby, kitty, sissy.  And, then there are random words and phrases - get down, yo-yo, gimme, ready, okay, mickey mouse, car, shoe, juice, go, no, mine and thank you.

Maddie also has a weird obsession with shoes (gets that from Nick) and the desire to put things on her head and body...underwear, shorts, shirts, goggles, hats, headbands, jewelry, purses...you name it.  Not really sure where this one comes from.  She helps herself to the pantry and usually goes straight for the Craisins, her favorite snack.  She will eat almost anything you put in front of her, and she is no stranger to grabbing a bag of chips, pulling her yellow plush Elmo chair up to the TV, grabbing the remote and relaxing with some cartoons.  She's like an old man.  And, her signature trademark - the Maddie scowl.  She can give you a look that will melt icicles.  It is mean and jarring and she has been doing that since birth.  It even was seen in her 4D ultrasound when I was still pregnant with her.

Maddie takes after my Dad's side of the family, at least as far as height is concerned.  She is just under 3 feet tall which just so happens to be 14 inches shorter than her 6-year old sister.  At this rate of growth, she is predicted to be 5'9" or better.  I am 5"5".  Her fair skin and icy blue eyes stem from my mom's Norwegian roots, but her boisterous attitude and LOUD voice is all Nick - 100% Sicilian.  But, so is her sweet nature and cunning smile.  She is a handful already.  She will truly be a force to be reckoned with as a teenager.  Can you hear the excitement in my voice?

But, she is my baby and we share a special bond.  I don't want her to grow anymore; I want to keep her a baby forever.  Plus, my arms are tired and I need a break.  :)

The side effect of pregnancy is a baby

 I am pretty sure that I felt the baby move for the first time today. I would be referring to the one inutero and not the one currently suffering a rice cake coma. The subtle somersaults of my soon-to-be third child put things into perspective for me. These past 16 weeks, I have been preoccupied with nausea, gagging, gas, constipation and bloating (don't get all offended – if you have intestines, you have at some point in your life experienced such niceties.) I have had sleepless nights filled with multiple trips to the bathroom, headaches, overwhelming exhaustion, aches and pains, water retention and expanding body parts. But, when I feel that little flutter in my stomach I realize that the only side effect in pregnancy that matters is the baby. And, immediately I think – Cheese and Rice! I am going to have three kids! Am I gonna have to get a mini-van?

Don't get me wrong. I realize the tremendous miracle that grows inside of me and how superior women are to men because of this simple fact, but there is a bone I need to pick with my body about this whole baby making thing - the phenom of body memory. This is my third child and because of body memory, my belly button has already “popped.” I am four months pregnant. I don't need to be reminded by my body that this is my third kid. I have two kids and hundreds of pictures of me gray and swollen after hours of hard labor. Why can't my body remember the good 'ole days of my honeymoon with my tight little toosh, zero body fat and track star metabolism? In my twenties, I would get compliments to my navel from complete strangers. Keep in mind that was back in the day when it was cool for only skinny girls to wear midriff tops. (And, yes I just went there). Now my navel looks like a a deflated tail from a balloon animal. Okay, that was a slight exaggeration, but ladies – holla if you hear me! Add to that diastasis of my stomach muscles and my once natural six-pack has become an alienesque cone. My (male, of course) doctor actually told me to remind him to sew them back up should I have a C-section. Okay, Doc. That is the obvious thought of a woman who is having their insides set on a steel table on D-day. I will get right on that.

Yes, I jest. But, in actuality, this has been my best pregnancy thus far as pertaining to rapid body change. I gained 70 pounds with Isabella, wore men's velcro sandals and was affectionately dubbed Krusty the Klown by my brother-in-law. I once polished off a box of Twinkies in under 5 minutes. I was a glutton and a tank. With Madison, I gained 40 pounds and my pelvis separated, which was as painful as it sounds. I was in labor for 24 hours proving to the most excruciatingly painful experience of my life, rendering me crippled and in a wheel chair for quite some time. With baby number three, so far I have gained 4 pounds and am losing hair. But, I can deal with that. And, now that the baby is moving, who cares if I have to get a van? With the help of God, I am making my third child and no matter what happens to me, he or she will be just perfect.

Surf's up, dude...

I am generally a sarcastic person.  In fact, there is very little that comes out of my mouth not tinted with the sweet undertones of sarcasm.  Except for this weekend, of course.  Sarcasm was no where to be found and in its place was a huge dose of humility.  We just got back from Daytona/Ponce Inlet where Isabella was introduced to a full day of surfing through Surfers for Autism.  I am here to tell you that I witnessed one of the coolest things I have ever seen...not just with Isabella on the surfboard, but watching all the volunteers, other kids, parents, and vendors put together an amazing event.

I met some of the nicest people all at the beach for one purpose: to help autistic kids surf.  Isabella was somewhat of a natural attempting to stand up on her first ride out.  She fell almost immediately after standing, but she tried two more times before she just gave up and rode on her tummy - over, and over, and over again.  She did stand later, although I did not see it. She swallowed quite a bit of water and volunteered to take a break.  Isabella would live in the water if she could.  She loves the ocean - and pools, and showers, and sprinklers, and rain.  Anything to do with water has a therapeutic effect with her, as it does with almost all kids with autism.  The reason for this remains to be seen but, who cares?  She is so happy and that is all that matters.

The surf was pretty intense; the waves were well above my head and the rip current was a tad strong for my liking.  But, these guys (and girls) were amazing with helping her - riding on the back of the board to keep it weighted and guiding her in all the way to the beach.  It was really cool.  She went surfing with the president of Christian Surfers, the owner of Inlet Charley's Surf Shop and an instructor from Pure Life Surfing school.  Not to mention the many surfers who just gave up a good day of awesome waves to see some good kids have the best day of their lives.  They could have been doing anything, yet they chose to help kids - happily.  It was really a great feeling to be part of such compassion.

Surfing does not make autism go away.  There were hundreds of kids there - some typical and most autistic.  The typical kids were playing with each other, while the autistic kids played near each other, yet by themselves.  None of them interacted.  It wasn't something that really stood out for me because she was having such a good time talking with other parents or adult volunteers.  They had a puppet show where a group of about 20-30 kids sat in the sand to watch.  None of them were watching - all of them were pouring sand on their bodies, including Isabella.  Madison was watching it and dancing to the song, but the other kids were lost in the sensory effects of beach sand.  I asked Isabella today why she was doing that.  I thought maybe she was cooling herself off.  I was wrong.  She said "it just felt really neat and it was really soft."  Duh.  I should have know.  She loves soft stuff.

Madison, contrary to Isabella, had no interest in the water unless it was from the tide line.  She just wanted to roll in the sand where it remained on her face, in her ears, in her hair for the majority of the day.  It was quite comical and yes, she did eat some.

Isabella had the time of her life.  Grins from ear to ear most of the day and only a couple of instances of fleeting problematic behavior.  We had a great time watching her...hot, pregnant...it didn't matter.  I would do it again in a heart beat.  In fact, I will be doing it again next month in St. Augustine.  Mahalo.

Gluten for Punishment?

Waiting for my children's visit to their pediatrician, I flipped through the magazines that spanned the shelves of their lobby. I was greatly shocked to read the extremely short summation of a recent study of the effectiveness of a gluten- and casein-free diet in children with autism, published in a popular renowned parenting magazine. The magazine claims the consumption of such a restricted diet does not improve behavior patterns and suggests that the challenge and costliness is hardly worth the effort. This blatant misrepresentation about the study may lead parents to believe that nutrition has no bearing on a child's health, behavior or development and could drive parents to treat their children with unnecessary pharmaceuticals that have a number of harsh side effects.

This short study of such a small sample (22 children in four weeks, not revealed in the magazine article) should hardly bear such a definitive conclusion, especially when the hundreds of thousands of parents who have treated their children with the GFCF diet and have success are taken into consideration. Many parents report immediate improvement in sleep patterns, sociability and reduced stimming and problematic behaviors. Other parents report that the improvement is seen much slower and notice a general improvement in the child's well-being and overall health. As a parent of a child on the spectrum who implements a GFCF diet as part of therapy, as well as following it myself, I speak from experience when I say that this change of lifestyle has proven to be the must effective treatment thus far. These foods have cleared the fog from my child's brain and allowed other treatments to be more successful, like speech and behavioral therapies. Eliminating gluten and dairy from one's diet has no adverse reaction on health or development and contrary to what this study portrays, has the possibility to have profound positive health benefits. Similarly, while medication may have benefit in the treatment of autism in some children, synthetic medications and pharmaceuticals are riddled with many known side-effects that can potentially cause lifelong health damage and permanently affect a child's development.

Children on the spectrum are as individual as the fingerprints on their hands and likewise their respective treatments will be highly varied. The decision to treat a child with autism should rely on the parent with guidance from a well educated physician – knowledgeable in medicine as well as balanced and healthy nutrition. When misrepresented studies like these are carelessly placed beside bounce-house advertisements and jello recipes in parenting magazines, a huge disservice is being done to the education of proper nutrition as well as the awareness of effective treatments for autism spectrum disorder.

Back to School

Isabella heads back to school next Monday and it won't be in our living room as it has been in the last year. She will be attending a charter school for children with an autism diagnosis and I am both extremely excited and extremely stressed out and anxious. While I always hoped she would go to the best school, I never imagined in a million years it would be the best school for autism. I know I should revel more in the fact that she is so excited; she knows no difference between typical or atypical, but I am still a little sad. I feel like I am partly grieving for the typical first grade year that her cousins and friends will have or already had. We will worry not about school plays or team sports, but focus instead on speech and occupational therapy and individualized behavior plans.

So, why then are we doing it? Why have we decided to send her to an atypical school where we wait for the unknown instead of keeping her at home where she was doing relatively well? The answer is quite complex, really. Homeschooling is a challenge even for a typically developing child, but when you have a daughter who has very specialized learning needs and I am not a trained teacher, it poses obstacles that are hard to overcome. Not to mention therapy is extremely expensive and when I quit my job to care for Isabella (and Madison) I left behind 65K a year, paid insurance,401k and profit sharing. This school environment provides individual therapy 5 days a week. That type of treatment in private atmosphere would cost us more than 500 dollars a week, and that is being moderate.

The other reason is to have her exposed to other children; to learn how to appropriately behave and socialize with children her own age while in a learning or structured environment, as well as at play. It is easy to put a child with autism on a playground where she can focus on a swing and slide over and over again. Yes, she is with children, and yes, they are playing. But, if you watch closely you will notice there is no interaction. You could remove all the people on the playground and it would not impact the type or direction of play in which she is engaged. She WANTS friends, don't get me wrong, she just doesn't quite know how to do it; she is socially awkward, albeit much better than a year ago. The two of us recently took the train to Jacksonville. Trains are a love of Isabella's and this was a gift from Grandma and Grandpa. While on the train we talked about how exciting it was and I was taking pictures so that she could show all of her friends. She quickly replied, "What friends?" How gut wrenching and painfully eye-opening. Hopefully, she will soon develop new friends with this school. I am excited for her that she will develop some relationships outside of our home.

The last reason will seem selfish to some and quite frankly it is to some degree. But, the harsh reality is that I need a break from her. And, she needs a break from me. I would be lying if I said this isn't the hardest job in the world - to be patient and understanding of a six-year old girl who should be capable, who I want desperately to be capable, but isn't. Being high-functioning means that her capability to learn and intelligence are normal. It doesn't mean that she is any less challenged than a low-functioning child. There is a huge misperception there. She is mild on the spectrum and she is only this way because of God's blessing, plus all the extremely hard work that our entire family commits to on a daily basis, including her. And, it is hard. Her expressive and receptive language delays complicate communication. Social cues are missed with her and sensory integration compounds her problematic behavior. She is constantly being redirected and appropriated for her actions and largely disallowed to "misbehave" because she must learn "appropriate" behavior which most of us inherently know. Rare are the instances where she can "just be a kid," because to her it would involve stimming or stacking and those behaviors are largely considered to be "weird" by other people. And, I am always correcting her, often shouting, saying the same things over and over again and they are never processed. It is difficult for her to initiate play by herself and she often needs direction. She doesn't engage in imaginary play and she obsesses on things that I try to discourage. It is so tiring, so emotionally and physically draining. I love my daughter more than life itself, but there are times when I just need to be away from her. And, I know that she needs a break from me.

Nick just called to tell me he was on his way home - the last meeting for parent before school starts. He met her teacher (we will meet her on Friday) and he sounds excited, so that helps wash away some of my insecurities. She will do great, I know it. I think I underestimate her a little. But, I am her mommy and her protector and it is my sole responsibility to make sure she succeeds and I often feel like I am doing everything wrong. Will she hate me for making her go to an "autism school." Will this be the best thing that has ever happened to her? Only time will tell, and by this time next week we will be even closer to answering that question.

Walk Now for Autism Speaks Altamonte Springs

As some of you are already aware, I am a team captain and participant of the 2010 Walk Now for Autism Speaks event in Altamonte on November 13. I am walking for my daughter, Isabella. Ironically, this date will mark the one year anniversary of her autism diagnosis. I want to thank those of you who have donated and/or joined my team to walk and raise money. I am ramping up my campaign as the event draws near and if you are not in a position to donate or walk, I ask that you pass this on to your personal network - awareness is my ultimate goal.

Today, I took Isabella to her pediatrician to review some recent labs - a visit unrelated to autism, or so it appears. Her new pediatrician, a super nice guy, always is so amazed with how well she behaves and comments frequently saying "she obviously is high-functioning." Yes, she is. A year ago he may not have been so inclined to say that, but I digress. As he was typing up the notes for our referral to a specialist, he told me that he is including her history of Autism Spectrum Disorder but he is "making a note that she is high-functioning so they don't freak out." I was floored by his assumption that his esteemed colleague of a medical profession would be alarmed that a potential patient would have autism. And, I told him as such. He said that patients with autism take more time, and they might say, "oh, thanks for sending them to me." I told him how unfortunate I thought it was the medical profession felt that way and they should be more accepting considering that 1 IN 150 CHILDREN ARE DIAGNOSED WITH AUTISM. I continued to tell him that kids with autism are good kids. And, then it occurred to me how very unaware people are of that scary little word AUTISM including our front line of defense, pediatricians. Okay, here come the stats.

More children will be diagnosed with autism this year than AIDS, DIABETES and CANCER COMBINED.
1 in 150 children are diagnosed with autism
1 in 94 boys are on the spectrum
A new case is diagnosed almost every 20 minutes
Autism is the fast growing serious developmental disability in the U.S.
Autism research receives less than 5% of research funding than most other prevalent childhood diseases
There is no medical detection for autism and there is NO CURE
The estimated cost for families for a child with autism is more than $70,000 per year, most of which insurance does not cover

IT IS TIME TO SPREAD THE WORD! Here is the link to MY DONATION PAGE. From here, you can make a donation or join my team to walk and raise money for awareness as well. By participating in this event, you are helping to change the future for all who struggle with autism including my daughter, Isabella. By walking, you are getting us one step closer to finding what causes autism, how to prevent and treat it, and ultimately a cure so no family ever hears those words again. Until then, we walk to find answers and raise awareness about the devastating toll that autism has had on families like ours.

I need you to help make tomorrow be about dance lessons, school lunches and first words rather than therapy, doctor appointments and despair. Together, we will find the missing pieces.

Honey Mustard Roasted Chicken

Makes 4 servings.

Ingredients:
•2 large sweet potatos, cut into wedges
•2 lbs. chicken
•6 medium carrots, sliced
•2 tablespoons olive oil
•1 1/2 tablespoons honey
•3 tablespoons mustard
•1 teaspoon rosemary
•6-8 garlic cloves
•salt and pepper to taste
•lime juice

1. Preheat oven to 425° F. In a shallow pan, toss potatoes and carrots with oil, salt and pepper.

Peel the garlic cloves, and nestle the garlic amongst the vegetables and scatter the rosemary on top. Arrange the chicken pieces among the vegetables.  Squirt a dash of lime juice on the chicken with salt and pepper.  Bake uncovered for 30 minutes.

2. Stir together the mustard and honey, and spread over chicken. Stir vegetables, return chicken to pan, place back into the oven and bake 10-20 minutes, until chicken is cooked and vegetables are tender.

Nutritional Information
Calories 356.7
Carbohydrate 39.4g
Protien 30.5g

(adapted from pregnancy-calenders.net)

My Happy Place

A couple of birdies (of the same feather) told me that my blog seemed "angry."  I think what they meant to say was sarcastic.  These birds just happened to be drinking at the time so I can see how they might get that confused.  Anyway, I thought I would humor them and redirect my tone to something a little more jovial - my happy place.  Don't worry.  It is very PG.  I have kids, you know.

One word.  YOGA.  Seriously, I have fallen in love.  I have done yoga a dozen or so times - maybe more, maybe less.  But, just recently have I realized how awesome it is.  Over the weekend, I did a class with the two aforementioned birds above, and I was even COMPLIMENTED on how good I was.  Granted, they were mostly over 60 and the lights were off, not to mention the incense that was burning had us all high, but it counts.  Hate the game, not the player.  I guess my little baby in my pelvis centered my inner chi, because you ask anyone who knows me well and they will tell you my middle name ain't Grace.  And, to all you naysayers, you work your body in ways you didn't think possible.  Not only does my whole body ache, but I have a bruise.  You know you worked it out when you have battle wounds.

Yoga must be like crack, because I am on a mission to get that high.  I am addicted - I can't wait to do it again.  All I can think about is my next Cobra or Thread the Needle.  I shall perfect my Ujjayi Pranayama.  I mean, who can even say that word?  I'm just glad that my new obsession will increase my flexibility, as opposed to my first pregnancy when I was addicted to Twinkies.  And, maybe - just MAYBE - my pelvis won't separate as it did in my second pregnancy.  And to that I say, Namaste.

If you have gas, I am not going to touch your butt.

I am pregnant.  Again.  And, I am old and pregnant, so this pregnancy peave of mine is even more irritating than with babies past.  I am three months pregnant.  I am not showing, I AM BLOATED.  Do not touch my belly and rub it like you are connecting with the baby.  If you wanted to really connect with my fetus, you would be rubbing my pubic bone and that is a sure way to get your ass kicked.  When you have gas, I wouldn't rub your butt cheeks.  You get it?  So, please the bloated belly is painful...keep your hands off.

With my last child, Madison, I managed to almost sail through my pregnancy without any strangers hands on my stomach, until that fated day when I was cornered in an elevator with a fellow (creepy) co-worker and he just couldn't resist the urge.  Talk about awkward.  Dude, we don't even work on the same floor.  I don't know you like that. Nor do I plan or want to know you like that.

As a disclaimer, this post applies to aunts, uncles and grandparents of my current children.  Now that I am hormonal, I feel liberated to tell you how I really feel- even though I know I have said this before.  However, nieces and nephews will be allowed once the baby starts kicking.  Until then, remember the navel bone is connected to the kick-you-in-the-groin bone.

Facebook

Ah, the social anomaly that defies definition. Everyone uses Facebook for a different reason, right? I have decided, however, that the universal component to Facebook, the draw in which people can’t resist, is deception. I don’t mean cheating on your spouse or leading a double life (although that is not outside this parameter as there are those who use it for such purpose). I mean it in its purest simplicity of the word; partial truths or abstracting reality for your personal gain. I am guilty of it myself. Let me explain.



You get a Facebook account. You friend your besties and a couple of people from work, maybe college and even high school. The next thing you know, you have 752 friends. You post your every move and most people have hidden you from their feeds. No one cares what time you went to the gym or what you had for lunch, yet it still shows three people “like” your status. Let’s break down the deception, shall we?



1) You don’t have that many friends. My Facebook account says I have 150 friends. Total lie. I am a 35-year old mother with two children with a third on the way. Pregnant women are boring and hormonal, so the ten friends I really have don’t talk to me that much. In all actuality, I have three friends: 6 years, 18 months and a 37-year old with benefits…my husband.


2) You refuse to deny any friend request to maintain your “number.” Shaking your head no, are you? Lies.


3) Judging by your profile picture, you probably didn’t go to the gym, much less at 5 am. You should just be honest and say that nothing starts your day like a streusel and a diet coke. You are probably eating a Twinkie right now. I just ate some circus peanuts - right after I did Yoga on the Wii.


4) The three people that “like” your status are the same three people that like your every status. They have nothing better to do than to stalk your every move on Facebook. You probably don’t like them, but you are too worried about your numbers to delete them, or you won’t break the cardinal rule of disconnecting a friendship on Facebook. Which brings me to my next point.



I apparently missed the memo that you can’t disconnect friendships on Facebook or deny someone’s friend request. When did you lose the right to decide who you ‘friend?’ Do you go to a bar and find the most annoying people or contrasting to your personality type, sit with them awkwardly and roll your eyes every time they speak? No. But, you know you are doing that now on the other side of this screen, aren’t you? Busted. If we don’t speak in '”real” life, I am unsure why you would want to speak with me in a “digital” one. Unless you are creeping or that obsessed…you know who you are. And, then there are those people who you have friended and you realize that they can’t write anything in the English language without using the F word, and it is spelled wrong consistently. Or, those people who you may have been friends with 17 years ago, but realize that they still haven’t kicked their drug addiction, or they are so depressing that your own status updates have become tinted with suicidal undertones. The logical thing to do is “disconnect.” But, it is like you have just horse-whipped a boy scout. So, most people won’t do it. Like I said…I missed the memo. And then there is blocking. Dare I go there? It is a feature for a reason, people.



Facebook is truly rendering our next generation of young-uns stoopid and social basket cases. And, yes I know it is stupid, but that is my point. How hard is it to spell correctly? Does it really take that much longer to type “are” instead of “r"?” And to you married people or couples who banter back and forth on Facebook while you are with each other in the same room: you need therapy. Truly, you do. Farmhouse (or whatever it is called) is not the reason you joined and stay on Facebook. You aren’t kidding anyone. Get a turtle and really prove your point. You go on your Facebook everyday; don’t play like you don’t. And if you are “never on Facebook,” then why do you have an account? And, why do I keep seeing your updates? Oh, and why do you have three accounts with different aliases?Deception.



When I joined Facebook, I was curious. So many people I knew had an account. So, I tried it. It was fun, but I spend entirely too much of my time on it. I can’t quite figure out why, either. The social anomaly. My status updates usually are about some random thing my kids have done or a fleeting thought of my own. I post links, usually comical or political. No one dares comment on my political status updates. Why? Aren’t we “friends"?” Can’t we have an intellectual debate or agree to disagree? Now, I use Facebook for feeds from my autism, medical and health awareness sites. The magic has worn off. I too have hidden people from my feeds; guilty as charged. It is deception at its finest and at its worst. That isn’t who I am, and thus my Facebook days are over. Now, I shall blog. If you want to follow me…great. And, if not, suck it. No deception there.



Loves

A Letter of Honesty to My Daughter for World Autism Awareness Month

My Precious Isabella~

Autism. An unwelcome little word to which I never paid any mind. In my naivety, I pictured a child rocking and humming in the corner – not speaking, not smiling – and certainly not you, my sweet baby girl. But, in my search for answers as you continued to slip away from me, that dirty word continued to rear its ugly head until it tattooed its name on your beautiful face on November 14, 2009:  “Your daughter has classic autism. She is milder on the spectrum, and certainly high-functioning, but she does have autism.” And, so began the first day of the rest of our lives.

I want to tell you I am sorry. I am so, so, sorry. God gave me a responsibility to protect you the day you were born; He gave me an intuition to trust on your behalf. And, I failed. I watched you struggle. I did nothing but tell myself you were fine, that it was just a phase. Forgive me for listening to the doctors who didn't love you, the teachers who didn't nurture you, for letting my denial talk me out of helping you. But, know I didn't and will NEVER give up on you.

Eight months ago, so many things were wrong. You stared through me, you didn't hear your name, you hid under tables and you often didn't speak. You stacked and sorted and lined up your toys. You rocked, you spun, you rolled. You felt no pain, you were self-abusive, you would make yourself bleed. You couldn't ask for help, you laughed when we were upset with you and you couldn't make it to the potty. You couldn't be in a room by yourself, you were terrified by mirrors and you couldn't have anything out of place. You never slept. We would find you on the foyer tile in the mornings, on the bottom of the stairs. I didn't understand you. You were sad. You were so alone. I was broken-hearted.

I read, I researched, I PRAYED. I cried, I sobbed, I PRAYED some more. I took you to therapists, psychologists, neurologists. I sobbed, I cried, I read, I researched, I PRAYED. And, then I took ACTION. I became your teacher, your advocate, your nutritionist, your doctor, your unconditionally loving MOMMY.

Today, you are a different child. You smile all the time. You giggle infectiously. You listen for your name, you sit at the table, and you talk incessantly. You ask questions. Your literal mind amazes me. Your ability to see in patterns is phenomenal. You have a sweetness about you that can never be tarnished. You attempt to pretend-play, even if it is imagining that our house is in traffic. You hug, you love, you are empathetic. You haven't had a day or night accident in almost 2 months. You play by yourself, you sing songs, you answer questions, you SLEEP. I am starting to understand you, I can see that you are happy, and you will never, EVER be alone again.

I want to tell you I love you. I can't stretch my arms wide enough to show how much I love you. I want to tell you how proud I am of you. I want to tell you that the day that I was given a name to the thief that was stealing your heart, your words, your emotions, your sleep, your life - I committed myself to helping you erase it from your vocabulary. Not just make it easier to say, but destroy it. I will falter, and I will make mistakes, I will get frustrated. I will cry and I will get upset, and there will be days where I just won't understand. Our journey is far from over. But, if you have autism, I have autism. Me and you, best friends, are doing this together. I will NEVER fail you again.

Love,
Mommy

Yes, She Has Autism.

In a video I watched recently about two young autistic adults in a relationship (http://www.autismsupportnetwork.com/news/video-living-loving-autism-443201), a father tells how it is often harder in some respects for high-functioning autistic people opposed to those more severe on the spectrum because “...they are so close to 'there', yet not quite.” I thought of my daughter, Isabella. Although her autism is there everyday, there are many moments when her behavior and her actions are the same of a typically developing, near six-year old girl. It is those fleeting moments that elude people to think that she just is poorly behaved, or that I am a bad parent.
I was recently at the local health food store trying to find some supplements for myself, when a very nice member of their staff offered to help me. I was with both of my children and I was thankful for the offer. I explained to him that I can't have gluten in my supplements and after a while of searching with no luck, he asked me if I had celiac disease. I told him that I don't eat anything with gluten or casein because my daughter has autism and she can't eat those things. Technically, I could take the supplements with gluten, but I don't because I want to be feeling as much as what she feels. He looked at me, puzzled, and says “Who? This daughter?” referring to Isabella standing next to me. I replied yes, and with his brow furrowed he questions, “Really?” No, I am making it up. Of course, I didn't say that, but I was a little perturbed, although I don't think it was visible. After learning this information, he promptly said, “Well, let me know if you need help with anything else.” And, with that, he left.
I guess I should have been happy with his conclusion. To him, my daughter wasn't autistic and that is what we want, right? But, it irritated me that he became an instant professional on autism while spending just 3 minutes with me and my girls. And, this is what that father in the video was referring to, I think. What these people don't see are the 45 minute sensory overload sessions of feeling page after page of different books to find the softest one. They don't see your child hiding under the table when her therapist talks about emotions. They don't see my 5 and half year old having daytime accidents because they can't feel the sensation to use the bathroom. Almost there, but not quite. Maybe I was just exhausted that day, and his observation caught me off guard. Emotions tend to run high when you are in a grocery store or other stimulating environment.
I don't want autism to define her, don't get me wrong, and I am so thrilled with her accomplishments. It is because of her very restricted diet, her plethora of supplements and her intense therapy that she is often able to conceal her diagnosis. Some parents might say that is what they want – for people to not see that their child has autism. I feel that way too, but I am not ashamed of it. And, while I am hopeful that she will lead a relatively normal life, it is unrealistic to say she will not experience these challenges to some degree for the rest of her life.

Do You See What I See? A glimpse into the literal mind of my autistic daughter.

For those of you who don't know much about autism, it is a spectrum disorder. There are varying degrees of the way it affects each person who is diagnosed with this disorder. My daughter is mild on the spectrum and high-functioning, meaning she has normal intelligence. Those affected with autism are very literal in the way they interpret things; jokes and puns are often missed and the most basic of abstract concepts like before and after are difficult to grasp. While this is only a very minute glimpse into the many challenges that autistic people must overcome, it is necessary for me to preface the following peak at Isabella's interpretation of things I say to her.

Isabella is incessant; another part of autism that requires a great deal of patience, but I digress. Things that are inherently learned by social interaction for neuro-typically developing children requires a great deal of repetition to become a learned behavior by autistic children. For example, Isabella adores our German Shepherd mix, BeeJay. He is such a gently dog, and from the moment we brought Isabella home from the hospital, he has been her best friend. She tugs on him, she runs with him, she talks to him – they are buddies. However, in the past month or so, she has begun to terrorize him by pulling his tail while he is sleeping, chasing him with baby doll strollers, and cornering him behind furniture. He is visibly scared, but Isabella often can't read social cues (especially in a dog) and she just laughs. I must tell her at least a dozen times a day that it is not nice to be mean to the dog, he is scared, and to leave him alone. For most children, they get that concept and after a few times of pushing the limit with their parents, they finally give in and realize the punishment is not worth it. This is not the case with Isabella.

“If I see you doing that again,[insert disciplinary action].” I often start my reaction to her behavior to the dog, as I do with most problem behaviors, with these words. It is subconscious and to me it implies very basically, stop doing the behavior or you will get in trouble. Most recently, I told her to leave the dog alone, and not five seconds later she was doing it again, only it was behind the kitchen counter where I couldn't see her. Come to think of it, I recall she hides and looks to see if I am coming while she pesters the dog quite a bit. So, I asked her, “Why are you bothering the dog? I just told you to leave him alone.” Her response was very matter of fact, “But, you can't see me.” My first reaction is that she is being sneaky and I am slightly irritated, but then it dawns on me she has only done what I told her to do. “If I see you doing that again...” And, I couldn't see her, so therefore, to her it was okay to keep doing it.

The concept of death and going to heaven or somewhere else when you die is also extremely difficult for her to comprehend. That is difficult to comprehend for a lot of people, but for most of us we understand the idea of Heaven and we have faith to support our belief. My maternal grandmother passed away thirteen years ago, and she was in love with the moon. Isabella developed that same passion for the moon at a very young age, so I have always told her that when she looks at the moon, Great Grandma is looking down at you because she lives with Jesus and they live in Heaven. Explaining Heaven to a young child is very difficult, so this was my way of conveying that to her and I assume that is what she understood.

Recently, my husband was speaking to his grandmother, Isabella's great-grandma. Isabella can hear her voice through the phone, and she is excited; she knows who is on the line. “Is that Great-Grandma?” she asked full of giggles. I tell her yes, and Isabella wants to talk with her. After her conversation with Great Grandma, we tell her she is going to visit Great-Grandma and her excitement grows higher and she says, “We are going to the moon?” Another “A-ha!” moment comes over me, and I explain to her that we are going to New York to visit her other Great Grandma; Great Grandma that lives on the moon is in heaven and she lives with Jesus. Isabella asks, “She died?” Yes, she did, honey. And with that, I think the conversation is over.

Fast forward a week and Isabella and I are discussing George Washington, the topic of discussion for homeschool on Presidents day. I explain he was our first president, he lived a long time ago, and he is on the quarter, so on and so forth. Isabella asks if he died. (She talks about dying a lot, for some reason) Isabella, however, wants to see George Washington (she also asks if he has legs and if he eats food) and I explain that he lives with Jesus. Fast forward again, and now we are discussing President Obama, our current president who lives in WASHINGTON. “Maybe we can go there one day,” she says. I say sure, and she says “We can go to New York.” If you have made the connection, she thinks that George Washington lives in New York because he died and we told her that we are seeing Great-Grandma in New York whom she thinks has died and lives on the moon. So, therefore, she has concluded that people who die go to New York.

In that instant, I realized what a unique way she has at looking at the world. An innocent, no-nonsense, literal translation of everything around her. And, it also dawned on me that I am still using the standard rules of teaching and discipline with my autistic daughter, and those rules do not apply. Not only must she learn things by repetition, so must I. Repeatedly learn to view the world literally and for a left-brained, sarcastic individual, it is a difficult task.

Most days I curse autism and the day-to-day robbing it does of my child's dreams. But, on these days when I have figured out something so very unique to my daughter, I embrace it. She is so sweet; so innocent and what she views with her eyes are opening mine, more and more each day. God, grant me the serenity and patience to accept her autism on more days so that I can help her grow and flourish as You meant her to be.